They are the things that cannot fully elucidate,
of what they are,
a paranormal indicate,
that is go and comes for others have said . . .
they feel like it.
Beyond the track of the mind,
there are the ghosts that linger for many of any reasons,
and those motives,
become in short ranges but never fail,
in telling some kind of truth.
They stay for they couldnâ€™t go.
Leaving was never a choice they ever wanted,
even in death.
For a love one was left on severe terms,
in anger that should never happen,
and upon coming to know,
all should be forgiven,
even for just a moment.
And last, comes in pure rage,
as one lives to that the other dies,
the living will never get that end,
not without a chance of failure that should,
They knock the glass;
break the rules to harm the humans,
leaving the purpling marks on the flesh,
on the breathing beings,
as they scream.
Theyâ€™ll never be notice of what they,
in glimpses form,
or mist of the specks that cling to never let go,
upon dying as they did before.
In facts of knowing, are they real?
A dream made for pragmatism had become too much for them,
fantasy is all there is.
Or lack of visions,
there is nothing else but,
factual worlds are,
there left to walk a rocky path.
The paranormal is here or becoming a false iota,
there is facts of it,
to what these,
ghosts are in the minds fading eyes,
and tricky vivid yowls of coming death.
Believing in them,
comes at a price,
in knowing facts and dreams,
be nothing more,
in playing the game.
The game is this,
go with it,
and become nothing or something,
in baring flesh.
upon . . .